


Of Course.

by wrenaissance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bread, I just wanted to give the Mando a friend, Now with chapter two!, The Baker - Freeform, bread — freeform, does this count as a reader thing?, featuring: the child, pre-the child, she makes bread, she’s a baker, she’s unnamed, spoiler warning?? Maybe?? But only for his true name.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22266025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenaissance/pseuds/wrenaissance
Summary: The Baker is just a regular woman who has one duty: baking bread.However, there are certain dangers on outer planets, and she’ll make a friend in a masked fellow.
Relationships: The Mandalorian & Original Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

She hadn’t known what was happening, really. One moment, she was going to deliver bread to the tavern just down the way to fill her order, and the next, she had a blaster to her head. 

And then she didn’t.

The Baker was the daughter of a smuggler and a bounty hunter. Her parents were space marauders and she— well, the baker became a baker.  
She has her own little bakery where she bakes breads and pastries for the townsfolk of a little desert oasis on a planet nobody bothered to remember the name of— a city called Jedera. It was one of the few towns on the planet, the only other being one major city on the very opposite side.  
Travelers and traders got to rest or get a bit of business, Wanted criminals hide there, and of course the troops and bounty hunters are bound to follow. So, they all port in Jedera.

Bread isn’t all the baker makes— she makes pastries and confections, too. And she even has a few traders who bring her off world ingredients in exchange for her services, asking her to bake the fruits and vegetables into the dough. Her selection is ever rotating, but that just means for extra money.  
Aside from the few townsfolk and regulars who buy from her, everyone who comes into her bakery is a foreigner— perhaps they don’t speak her language or they don’t have her regular currency or whatever, the baker makes adjustments. She does barters and trades and makes do with what she can. Its an honest living.  
A few credits for a couple rations of bread from travelers and other folk and she is set— this is how the baker gets her business.

She lives her honest life alone with her old (and very well trained) Tooka-cat from Lothal— he was part of a barter from a trader who wanted to purchase thirty loaves of bread. In his prime, Kibbu was a valiant hunter, but now, he’s a lap warmer who drinks the milk that the baker doesn’t use in her baking. But she wouldn’t trade Kibbu for the world.  
The locals are all a bit strange— very few who are the same species or speak the same language. Communication is basic and primitive between them all. Mostly living beings, few droids, thats about it. Oh, and Kibbu.  
Therefore, the baker doesn’t have many friends, just some regulars and the occasional traders.

Earlier that morning, the door to the baker’s shop opened and the little bell chimed lightly, heavy footfalls crossing the floor towards the first case.  
The baker moved out from her back room, having just put a new loaf in the oven, she wiped her hands on her apron and she moved to stand behind the counter, “Good morning, sirs,” she smiled.  
A crew of a few traveling men had entered, a few were looking at breads in their cases, one admired the cake on display. And another moved to meet her in front her main case.  
The man looked to her, smiling dashingly, “And to you, beautiful— how’s business?”  
“Just fine,” she told, getting ready for the usual business of travelers trying to flirt for free food, “Making a living, like one does.”  
“A hard living, huh, doll?” He leaned against the counter in front of her.  
She hummed, “Mhm. I Wouldn’t trade it for your life, though.”  
He laughed, tan hand running fingers through his dark hair, “Well, aren’t you just a comedian.” He shook his head, shrugging with a laugh, “How much for... two of those?” He pointed behind her.  
The baker turned to look, picking up two loaves, “What currency, sir? Credits? T—” she paused when the man groped her suddenly. Wheeling around, the hurled the bread directly into his face, the hard crust colliding with his nose solidly.  
“You little—”  
“Out! Get out of my shop, now! You filthy, no-good, disgusting—” she began yelling and hollering, advancing on the man with a stone rolling pin clutched in her hand.  
When the man spilt out onto the street, the baker stopping in her doorway— still screaming profanities and proclaiming that the man was bad news— the nearby shop keepers and stall runners of the market all took notice and began to descend upon the man and his crew. They berated him and ran them all out of town for the baker.

The man next door was a blacksmith, and, every few nights, the baker and blacksmith would join other merchants of the town for breaking bread— peace dinners to help feed the poor and homeless of their town. The two of them spoke quietly aside from the other shopkeepers. The blacksmith, speaking in his own tongue, offered a tentacled hand to the baker, apologizing for the travelers’ behaviour earlier in the day.  
“Its alright, Maren.” She shrugged, “You needn’t worry, its no fault of your own.” She took his hand in her own, his dark blue skin contrasting her own, light tan.  
He complained about the low security detail, how... beastly the travelers and bandits were becoming these days. They began the walk away from the supper, back to their neighbouring shops.  
“I know,” the baker sighed, “There’s nothing we can do but... wait it out.”  
The blacksmith pressed a small kiss to her knuckles with his strange mouth— a polite thing in his culture— bidding her a safe night in parting.  
“Good parting to you, too, Maren. Stay safe.” The baker nodded to him, splitting ways as the blacksmith saw her to her shop door, “I’ve only one more delivery to the cantina at the end of the way, then I’ll retire with Kibbu for the night.”  
The blacksmith nodded, retreating back to his own shop for the night and leaving the baker to herself.  
True to her word, she began gathering her last order, packing it into a basket for delivery and covering it with fabric to keep it from the blowing sands. She stepped outside and began her walk down the darkened streets of Jedera. 

The winds blew cold and dusty, but the baker liked it... It could get rather warm in her kitchen, but the nights in Jedera always proved cold.  
Her footsteps muffled in the well trodden sand path. Her basket swung from one arm as her opposite hand clutched a thin hood covering about her head. Aside from the wind howling and the occasional screech of a not-too-far-off sky beast, the night was quiet.  
The quiet continued when an arm hooked around the baker’s neck, a blaster barrel leveled to her temple as a whisper interrupted her silence.  
“Scream and I’ll kill you.”  
The dark haired traveler from before had a swollen lip, a welt on his cheek, and the baker at gunpoint. His grip was tight and his bare hand was colder than the wind, even through the baker’s thin covering.  
“Why?” She asked, voice trembling a bit, “What do you want?”  
He chuckled darkly, “Originally, a loaf of bread, now— well— now I want my dignity back.” He pressed the blaster harder to her temple, “Lets head back to my ship. My crew’ll love to see y—.”  
The silence was broken by blaster fire.  
The man’s grip on the baker was suddenly gone, and the baker heard him drop on the sand behind her. Yet, she dared not move.  
After a moment, a man in full armour stepped into her view, clad in dull metal and a cape tucked below a full coverage helmet. He stared at her in silence.  
The baker took a shaky breath, relaxing a bit, “...Thank you.”  
He nodded, still silent.  
At a loss for words, the baker rubbed one hand against the other, “I— I don’t know... I’m doing a delivery. He had a crew. Could you... walk me?”  
Solemnly, the helmeted man waited for a moment, then tipped his head forward. The baker jumped to it and continued on her walk, now a bit hesitantly when crossing alleyways. 

She’d made her delivery to the cantina, the owner had remarked about her ‘Mandalorian Guardian’ in her company. Nevertheless, she returned to her bakery unscathed with the helmeted hero at her side.  
She opened the door, pausing in the jamb and turning to the man, she stepped in and stepped aside, holding the door for him.  
Unmoving, the man stared back.  
She took a deep breath, “Its... its night fall. You might freeze to death in the old under all that metal.” She motioned inside, “Jedera’s bandits are nothing to a warrior, but the elements kill all.”  
The man stood steadfast for a moment, then moved inside the door jamb, suddenly looking out of place. As if the man and the baker had traded, the baker began moving at ease.  
She moved around her counters and into her kitchen, not hesitating to begin chopping vegetables and tossing them onto a metal tray, throwing them into the oven where she baked her bread.  
Curiously, the man watched as she began to mix ingredients, bowl moving quickly until she began to knead dough. By the time her dough was mixed, she pulled the tray from the oven and tossed it onto the counter. She put the dough into the oven and turned the heat up.  
In a matter of minutes, the baker had produced a bowl of roasted vegetables and a loaf of bread, setting them on a tray before the man in her bakery.  
Blankly, the helmet stared at her.  
She sighed, “Its... the least I could do for you. You saved my life— shelter and food are the least I owe.”  
The helmet remained emotionless, and the baker grew fidgety, “I— uh—” a thought struck her, “—its the helmet, isn’t it?”  
Silence.  
“The cantina owner said you were... Mandalorian? You can’t take off the helmet— I’ll— I’ll leave you to eat,” she decidedly said, “I’ll go prepare somewhere for you to rest.”  
She shuffled back, further into her home and began preparing somewhere for the masked man to sleep— blankets that were a bit thinner than she would’ve liked, old pillows, and her crappy old couch pushed a little closer to her heater. Her house got cold at night.  
When she returned to her bakery, the man had eaten the bread and vegetables in their entirety, he was examining her kitchen curiously, running gloved fingers over the countertops and the buttons on her electronics.  
The baker cleared her throat, the man looked at her— or, his helmet did— and she nodded her head towards the door she’d just entered from.  
He followed her curiously and looked around her home, “I’m sure you’ve a ship or something of the sort, but I extend my home to you— its not a lot but.. well... its safe to sleep here for the night.” She looked to meet the masked man’s gaze.  
The man looked seemingly between her and the couch, nodding. The baker breathed a sigh of relief and watched as the man sat down on the couch.  
“Thank you, again,” she smiled softly, tucking a wisp of ginger hair behind her ear, “for saving my life and escorting me.”  
The man nodded, “Of course.” He spoke in a low, melodic voice.  
The baker nodded in return, “I’ll be sleeping in the door on the left— the bathroom’s to the right.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Of course.”


	2. Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a few years, a lot has changed and... it almost seems like nothing has at all.

Chapter Two

The sands of time passed, especially quickly in Jedera— a little oasis town where nothing happened. It was one of the few towns on the planet, the only other being one major city on the very opposite side.  
Little to no news came about, no tales of the man in the mask who wasn’t even there the next morning when the baker woke up. The body of the man was never reported and no rumours spread. It was almost as if the sands of Jedara had made a mirage of a man in beskar, a faceless hero swept away.  
When the baker told the town of the armoured visitor, they called her crazy, said she must’ve been seeing things in the sands— Mandalorians haven’t been seen and years and they certainly wouldn’t be seen around these parts.

At least, not in the light of day.

So the baker went back to making her bread, and every few months, the Mandalorian stopped in for a night..

One hand covered in flour reached for the bowl, pulling the lump of pale, sticky dough from the steel bowl before dropping it on her cutting board. She tears one handful from it and begins to knead it across the floured surface. One turn, two turn, pick up with one hand, and set onto the baking tray. She scores the bread, then moves back to the pile of dough and repeats.  
Five small rolls, scored and ready for baking as she puts them in her oven.  
She rounded the kitchen wall and into the front of her bakery, the bell above the door softly chiming as it opened and a few bits of sand fell to the floor from the clothes of the blacksmith as he entered— her neighbor, Maren.  
He greeted the baker, then looked to the man behind the counter beside her, chittering a greeting to him.  
“Maren says hello, boy. Greet your elders.” The baker chastised her assistant.  
He bowed his head, “apologies, Maren. Hello, sir.”  
Maren chirped something of a laugh, telling the baker to go easy on her assistant. He picked a few loaves of bread and brought them to the counter.  
“I’ll go easy on him as soon as you bring me my commission, Maren,” the baker smiled, “Raiders help me finally decide to get a gun and you hold out on me for weeks.”  
Maren jokingly waved her off, saying fine craftsmanship takes time.  
The baker’s assistant finished the blacksmith’s trade as the baker smiled, setting her arm on her assistant’s shoulder, “Is that what you call fine craftsmanship, Maren?”

The baker and her assistant wish the blacksmith well as he leaves, the baker moving back to her kitchen as the boy begins to sweep the sand off the floor.  
After a moment, the boy speaks up, “ma’am, can I— can I ask a question?”  
“Of course, son,” the baker smiles, “that does happen to be part of your job.”  
He leans on his broom, pausing to brush sand out of his dark brown hair, “Well, I just— do you think the Mandalorian seen around Tatooine is—”  
“Son,” she stops him, tone a bit remindful as she sets her knife down, “I asked you not to speak of it.” The baker sets the knife aside and grabs the tray of fresh bread, moving warm rolls to be put on display, face overly relaxed.  
“Well, ma’am, I know, but I just...” he sighs, seeing her stare daggers with a smile through him, “my apologies.” After a moment passes, he looks up at her, “for the record, I don’t think you’re crazy.”  
“Boy,” she snaps, chastising, “we’re closed and you’ve got washing up to do.”  
The baker’s assistant sighed, moving towards the kitchen as the baker removes her apron, hanging it on a hook inside the display case. She grabs a rag and begins to wipe the glass of the case, first clockwise, then down. She sweeps the floors, starting at the back of the shop, then heading towards the front— making sure to get the corners before she pulls the pile of dust and sand towards the door of the shop. She opens it and sweeps the sand out, she pauses to stare at the sky, the night was darkening and this night, like every, would be lonely, dark, and deep.  
A cough catches the baker’s attention, and her hand drifts up to the belt of her pants, settling around the hilt of a blade. When a hand touches her shoulder, she draws it and turns to set it to the arm of the intruder, but, her grip faults as she meets the steeled gaze, one not of eyes.  
The knife falls to the ground with a soft thud as it hits the sand, “Mandalorian?”  
Meeting the baker’s eye is beskar steel and a blackened visor, as unmoving as she remembers, “Hello, again.” He lets go of her arm.  
The baker sputters for a moment, “Mandalorian— It’s been years— I—” she stoops down to grab her abanonded blade and comes face to face with a small child in a satchel on his hip. The baker pauses and blinks at it.  
It blinks back.  
She stands, “You’ve been gone for over a year—Never thought I’d see you again after you disappeared last time.” She smiles softly, opening the door to her bakery, “Come in.”

She holds the door open and the man enters behind her, sand falls off his armour and his cape comes to a soft rest on his back. He pauses, looking around the bakery, “Not much has changed, ” he says, “I was in the area and hoped—”  
“—to get bread?” The baker offers with a soft smile, moving around the display cases, “I’m not good for much else.”  
“—Hoped to see you again.” The Mandalorian takes a peek behind the counter, “I’ve... got someone I think you’d like to meet.”  
She can hear the door of the kitchen begin to creak open in it’s loud way, and she presses her foot against it and shuts it. The baker smiles softly, tucking a ginger strand of hair behind her ear, “Always thought you a lone wolf, Mandalorian.” She smiles.  
“Who’s in the kitchen?” the Mandalorian’s helmet has a gaze that is unmoving, but he still misses no detail.  
The baker smiles, “My apprentice, actually. But... I think it’s about time I take him home,”  
“I see... would you like me to—?”  
“No, no,” the baker waves him off, leaning against the glass, “I’ve learned how to defend myself, Mandalorian. If you wouldn’t mind meeting me here within the hour?”  
“Of course not.”

The walk home is deafeningly silent and the baker can barely hear the wind over her own thoughts, but when she returns to her bakery, the Mandalorian is meeting her at the door with a small bundle. She ushers him inside and shuts and locks the door behind herself.  
She tucks a curly, ginger strand of hair behind her ear and watches as the Mandalorian parts the blanket in his arm to reveal... a child.  
The child is small, only about the size of a human toddler and is a light green with large ears and big, hopeful eyes. It reaches out towards the baker.  
“May I?” She asks.  
The Mandalorian, surprisingly, offers it to her over the counter, she takes the child carefully in her arms and coos at it gently, running a finger across it’s cheek, “I was getting my ship repaired on the other side of the planet and remembered an old friend from Jedera—” The Mandalorian offers, “I’m surprised you’re still here.”  
“I’m a baker, Mandalorian,” she smiles, “there’s not much reason I’d leave.”  
A silence befalls the two as the baker coos at the child, a smile barely gracing her lips.  
The Mandalorian moves to stand beside the baker behind the counter, he speaks suddenly, “The boy, was he—?”  
“Goodness, no,” she smiles, eyes not moving from the child, “Always wanted a child, but never had the time— He’s a friend’s son,” she says, “my apprentice and assistant. It is quite a glorious line of work, to be a baker,” she jokes, then meets the gaze of the beskar steel, “much more exciting than being a warrior.” Her eye catches an insignia on the beskar steel shoulder. His armour bears head of a great creature, she moves a hand to it, carefully running a finger across it, “What’s this?”  
“My signet.” The Mandalorian’s gaze follows her delicate hand, “Its a ceremonial passage of the mandalorians.”  
“Gorgeous.” She smiles, then looks up to meet the gaze of the Mandalorian, “So, where did you find a baby, then?”  
“That’s... complicated.”  
“I have time if you do, old friend.”

“The child is—?”  
“Asleep.” The baker smiles, carefully pulling a shawl around herself, “safe and sound in a basket beside the cooling oven. He’ll be alright.” She leans against the wall beside the Mandalorian, safe and sound in the bakery— though she’s sure there was one more piece of bread before she left, she says nothing, “It’s... saddening. That they wanted a child for whatever purpose, if not to love it.”  
The Mandalorian is silent, looking ahead... or not... the baker can’t quite tell. And his arms are crossed tightly over his chest, armour stuck like a second skin.  
The baker was never one to sit in silence for long, and she leans carefully against the Mandalorian, “You know... the townspeople thought me crazy for saying I saw a Mandalorian and that he walked me home in silence from my delivery.”  
The Mandalorian seems to chuckle, shoulder barely bouncing with a laugh, “I suppose they would. But... it’s been a long time since then.”  
“It has.” The baker agrees, “a lot has changed and... it almost seems like nothing has at all.”  
“Can I tell you a secret? Something you can’t repeat.”  
“Of course.”  
“Only one person knows my given name, and its not someone I’d want to know it.”  
The baker lifts her head, “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”  
“Din Djarin.”  
“Casein Belora.”  
“You have a beautiful name, Casein.”  
“Thank you, Din.”  
“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give the Mando a friend, but make it ✨spicy✨

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaa this was just a lil draft, I think the Mando should have a friend who’s so mundane, she can’t hurt him.  
> Maybe a pt 2 where he returns with The Child for help.


End file.
